The Marauder
by Tellemicus Sundance
Summary: The world has changed. Wizards rule Scotland, Voldemort works from the shadows, the Ministry is becoming increasingly corrupt, and dragons are running rampant across England. Only a small gathering of rebels and outlaws try to stop the injustice of the lands. And there's a new evil approaching on the horizon... 'The Outlaw' sequel
1. Two Years Later

**(Author's Note)** I'd like to both thank and apologize to you all. I thank you for your overwhelming votes of confidence and requests to continue this story. It was my vanity and ego that drove me to make that ultimatum in the previous chapter. Though, honestly, getting a few more reviews than 2-5 on occasion would be nice. But I promise you, now that you've reminded me of several _important_ things that I'd forgotten about, I will continue to write and post this story until its completion. I hope you can bear with it until then for I can make no other promises, especially of _when_ it'll be finished.

And so, without further ado…

*******PART TWO*******

**The Marauder**  
By: Tellemicus Sundance  
_Chapter 1: Two Years Later_

**November 26, 1998  
Housesteads Roman Fort, Northumberland, England (**Yellow Zone**)  
Thursday, early morning**

The sky was overcast with clouds, which seemed to deepen the cold in the near-winter air. It was a cold that was even further accented by a strong wind that was blowing over the land and steep curving hills. The overgrown grasses and field of wheat were waving lazily in the winds, giving the illusion of the waves of the sea. Jutting up through this waving sea of grassland was a thick but relatively low stone wall of ancient design and construction, one of the few remaining icons and legacies of the old Roman Empire, Hadrian's Wall. In the centuries since, it had either been torn down in sections to allow roads and traffic or it simply succumbed to the forces of nature and crumbled. But in recent times, it had suddenly received a drastic revival.

The wall had been completely rebuilt in less than two months. No one was allowed over it without express permission from one of the sentries that regularly walked and guarded it. Like in times past, the wall had been rebuilt to keep the savages and uncultured peoples from crossing over in the civilized world, but with one significant difference. It was made to keep the people of England out of Scotland, not the other way around.

For the first year or so after the Great Disaster that had unleashed dragons upon the world and brought humanity to its knees, people had been fleeing the major towns and cities, trying to stay one step ahead of the man-eating monsters. Many had inevitably drifted north, where it had been rumored that there were comparatively fewer dragons. Yet not so many of those people had actually made it into Scotland, having run into an immoveable object called Hadrian's Wall, once again erected and powerful. Leaving them trapped in the dangerous, slum-like lands of England, now commonly referred to as the 'Yellow Zone' to the people of Scotland.

Of course, if the people had actually known what was happening beyond the wall in the so-called 'Green Zone', they might've been more inclined to take their chances with the dragons.

Three such individuals who did know, however, were walking along the length of the wall. One was an elderly man with shaggy gray hair and mustache. He was dressed in a ragged and worn brown jacket that had definitely seen better days. His slacks were just as threadbare with scattered tears and holes around the knees. He was riding leisurely upon a bay horse. Dragging along behind him was a pair of red-haired young men, their hands tightly to a pair of ropes that the old man had wrapped snugly around his saddle.

The pair of redheads had to hurriedly climb to their feet lest the horse start dragging them. Not that it would've mattered to their clothes. They were quite filthy with various stains and tears. Their dragon leather jackets, though more resilient than most types of leather, had been worn so thin that they hardly provided any protection against the cold winds. Their faces and red hair were just as dirty, unkempt, and unshaven as the old man's, along with several scar imprints lining their cheeks and temples. Even so, there was no mistaking the fact that the pair was identical twins.

Laughing darkly at his captives, the old man glanced back at the young men as he gave a particularly strong yank, pulling them forward and sending them stumbling to the ground. "Watch your step there, boys. Those last few are a doozy!"

This was the scene that greeted the various Muggle guards and their two magical superiors as they entered the east gate of the rebuilt Roman Fort. The Fort was the first of its kind, a staging ground for future operations of the Wizards as they prepared to start making their move southwards to conquer what was left of England. Despite its military importance to the overall plan, it was still too early in the Ministry of Magic's campaign to invest much time and effort in it, especially considering the fact that they were still in the process of seizing total control in Scotland. The Muggles were trained, psychopathic killers who'd been freed from various prisons and jails. In return for their freedom, they'd sworn fidelity to King Arminger of Edinburgh and were among many who'd been sent to aid the Wizards in their various endeavors since Minister Weasley had formed an 'alliance' with Arminger.

"Hey, hey, hey!" the old man called out in a loud voice to attract as much of the fort's garrison's attention as possible. "Come one, come all! For the pride of my life! The Weasley Twins! The Twins! Thieves, terrorists, wizards of the worst type!"

"Laying it on a bit thick, eh?" George grumbled quietly to Fred, bringing his hands back down to his waist once the old man had finally come to a halt and dismounted his horse.

"Just smile and wave, brother," Fred answered softly, flexing his own arms to loosen his joints before lowering them as well.

Gathering around the trio was the majority of the Fort's garrison, twenty Muggles and two Wizards. One of the Muggles came forward, carrying a wanted poster that had the Twin's pictures on it. The picture was slightly out of date, lacking their facial hair and scars. But it didn't take much imagination to see that the two bound men were the same ones in the picture.

"These two are _wizards_," one of the Wizards, an old Auror by the looks of his wrinkled crimson robes. "How could you have possibly captured two of the most _notorious_ thieves in all of Great Britain, Muggle scum?"

Yanking the wanted poster from the soldier, the old man bluntly drawled out. "Trade secret, Mage(1). Where's my bounty?"

"These men are now under the custody of Aurors Curtis O'Donnell and Marcus Stonewall," the other wizard said, this one much younger, probably a recruit fresh from Auror Academy. "We will take them the rest of the way. You can claim your bounty in Edinburgh."

"_Sure_, when Mermaids start _walking_," the bounty hunter growled out, not at all intimidated by the glares that the two Aurors were giving him. The old man knew that if he tried such a thing, he would only be paid half the bounty because he didn't have his captives present and with only the two Aurors' word that he had indeed caught them. Assuming, of course, they'd actually let a _filthy Muggle_ take credit for it.

Moving forward to catch a glimpse of the poster, Fred asked, "How much are we worth?"

The old man quickly and roughly shoved him back with his elbow, before smirking and looking back to answer the question anyway. "All figured at about…one hundred gold coins."

The Twins looked at each other with open and _honest_ disbelief.

"One hundred Galleons, that's _it?_" George asked, completely unable to comprehend such a concept. "After all the Manors, shops, and warehouses we've robbed—"

"A _lousy_ _**one hundred**__ Galleons __**apiece**__ is __**all **__we're__** worth?!**_" Fred finished, just as flabbergasted and feeling quite a bit insulted.

"That's _one_ _hundred_ gold coins," the man corrected lazily, glancing back at them nonchalantly. "for the _both_ of you."

"_What?!_" the brothers demanded simultaneously, their surprise skyrocketing at the kernel of information. "We're worth so much _more!_ Don't take it, old man!"

"We're wasting time," Marcus pointed out as he began reaching for his holstered wand.

But he no sooner touched his wand than a pair of twin red beams of light flew through the air, followed by two unconscious bodies suddenly hitting the ground. The fact that the Stunners had come from not the Aurors but the two prisoners instantly had the other twenty soldiers reaching for their own weapons, mostly swords, knives, and the occasional battle-ax. But suddenly finding themselves staring at the twin ends of two wands had the same effect of looking into the barrel of a machine gun, quickly freezing the men in their tracks as they knew full well what pain and terror could be unleashed from those small bits of magical wood.

"I thought you were tied up," one of them couldn't help but to utter in confusion.

Sending the soldiers identical smirks, the Twins just seemed to revel under the looks of disbelief on the soldiers' faces. "That's because you're _stupid_."

With a cry, the old man suddenly smashed a glass vile to the ground in the midst of the gathered men. From the shattered glass emerged a thick cloud of red smoke that filled the area within seconds. Though the strong, cold winds were quick to blow the smoke away, it wasn't fast enough to keep it from taking effect and knocking all the men unconscious by the time it had dispersed. The only reason that the three visitors weren't also unconscious was thanks to the quick use of the Bubblehead Charm, which popped once the smoke was safely blown away.

Turning to their partner-in-crime, Fred grinned at the old man, "You really should've been an actress, Fleur! That was one amazing performance!"

Glancing over at the redhead, the old man just smiled sweetly at the compliment.

* * *

**Glasgow, Scotland**

The dark clouds that covered the skies further south had progressed all the way to a thick, cold rainstorm. Strong winds were adding to the strength of the rain, allowing it to reach under umbrellas and whip people in the faces despite the hats and hoods they wore for protection. It was a storm that no one wanted to be out in if they had the choice.

Which was why it was as close to perfect cover to go 'grocery shopping' as any could hope for.

This was the unspoken rule of the resistance. Never go anyway alone, in broad daylight, or unarmed. Always stick to the shadows, stay off the streets by all means, and never _ever_ approach anyone wearing a black cloak with silver trimming along the sleeves and hood or the armored soldiers who usually accompanied them.

The once proud city of Glasgow had fallen under new and ruthlessly strict management in the months following the Great Disaster. First, survivors of the initial crisis in London had fled north, always trying to outrun the spreading dragons and trying to find food and shelter. Glasgow had been somewhat lucky as far the shortages of food and power went. It was located on the River Clyde which gradually opened up to sea, meaning the people had easy access to fishing and naval transport. Plus, they were surrounded by miles of countryside and farmers who'd been willing to trade their crops in exchange for protection from the starving southern mobs. Had things stayed that way, Glasgow might've recovered in a comparatively short time.

But then towards the end of the summer that same year, some warlord in Edinburgh had sent an entire division's worth of troops and invaded. The warlord, _King_ Arminger, wanted access to their boatyards, railroads, farms, and factories. His newly-trained soldiers of psychotic, freed killers had been bad enough. But what truly tipped the balance in favor of the invaders were the 'Special Forces' that accompanied them, people in black cloaks using little sticks capable of impossible feats of logic-defying magic. Word spread quickly, as did the fear and uncertainty. And though the city was quickly overrun and seized, there were still small groups of resistance hidden the many burnt, destroyed, and abandoned buildings. One such group was the small family who were moving through the sewers as quietly as they could.

The father, Neil Firstborn, was in the lead, using his left arm to simultaneously cover his nose from the sewage stench while holding the torch in his hand to light the way. In his right hand was one of the few remaining pistols that they still had some ammunition for. He was dressed in knee-high rubber boots that protected his normal shoes from the sewage, jeans and a somewhat heavy jacket that were little more than rags at this point. On his back was his youngest daughter's empty schoolbag, which would hopefully be loaded with food by the time this journey was over.

Behind Neil came his eldest child and only son, Isaac. Much like his father, Isaac was carrying his own torch, empty backpack, and small crossbow with several quivers of darts on his hips. Isaac was doing his best to keep away from the filth covered walls that were currently being drenched by rainwater that was pouring in from the streets above.

"How much farther?" Isaac asked in a quiet voice, the eagerness to leave the sewers was all too obvious in his voice.

"Another ten meters," Neil answered, having finally spotted the desired ladder to climb out of the sewer.

"Good, I can't take much more of this crap," Isaac grumbled, though he meant more sneaking around than he did the filth and stink. Neil noticed this, glancing back at his son with a disapproving look, but said nothing as they continued to trudge through the sewers.

Reaching the manhole cover, the two of them killed their torches as Neil started climbing. They knew the drill for what to do if things went sour so well that they offered one another nothing more than pats on the shoulders of good luck/goodbye. Carefully hoisting the heavy metal lid up, Neil peeked through the small opening as water began gushing inside the new entry point of the drenched street. Seeing nothing dangerous that caught his eye, he carefully lifted the lid and slid it off to the side.

As he was climbing out, Isaac moved to start his own ascent. But he was quickly stopped and jumped aside as his father let out a cry of pain and surprise, falling lopsidedly to the side. Thanks to the splashing of all the incoming water, Isaac's frantic jump aside into the sewage went unnoticed.

"And what do we have here?" a loud, snide sounding voice demanded, impossibly being heard over all the din of the water.

'_Mages!'_ Isaac thought in panic. No sooner had he turned to run than a great serpent of pure flame was shot through the manhole and quickly began to expand in the limited space available. Isaac waded as fast as he could in the deep sewage, but the demonic flames were relentless and quickly overtook him. With a cry of agony, Isaac was quickly burnt alive before collapsing into the sewage water where, even if he managed to survive the flames, he'd die most assuredly.

"ISAAC!" Neil shouted in despair as he watched the glow of the fires slowly die away as they moved deeper into the sewers. He quickly lost sight of the flames as the mage who'd launched them turned him over so he couldn't see the manhole opening. "_**DAMN ALL YOU MAGES TO **__**HELL**__**!**_" That was all he managed to scream out before being magically silenced.

"Was that really necessary, sir?" a young man's voice asked.

Glancing at it, Neil was treated the sight a young man with shockingly white-blonde and sharp facial features looking towards an older man with slight annoyance and confusion. The young mage, scarcely older than his own son, was dressed proudly in the telltale black and silver cloak of a mage. If that wasn't proof enough, the magic stick he was holding towards Neil (likely the source of the magic that had paralyzed his body) made it even more obvious.

"Yes, Malfoy," the older and more heartless man answered as he turned away from his handiwork to gaze down at their captive with a sickly sneer on his broad, strong face. "We must crush _all_ rats who try to scurry about and hide from us. If we don't, they'll eventually come back to make problems for us later. Besides, we only needed _one_ to interrogate anyway."

Though the young blonde didn't answer, it was clear even to Neil that he still didn't entirely approve of the unnecessary murder. Seeing this, the older man's sneer just deepened slightly as he said, "Don't worry, you'll learn to enjoy this. Black Watch does all kinds of dirty jobs, young Draco." Turning to Neil, the man pointed his magic stick forward and said, "Imperio!"

As he was suddenly filled with a truly blissful happiness that wiped away even the overwhelming grief of his beloved son's abrupt death, Neil heard a distant voice telling him to tell it all he knew about the remaining resistance in Glasgow and where they were hiding. And he told them…everything. The last thing he saw was a blinding flash of green light as his body was kicked into the manhole to rot with his son.

* * *

**London, England** (Black Zone)

The once great city of England was little more than hollowed out, charred ruins of buildings, vehicles, and sun-bleached skeletons. Fires burned in random places, sending up a near-constant blanket of smoke and smog, staining the buildings with its odor and ashes. Wandering the streets at their barest whims, bumping into stray buildings and adding to the damage, were many hundreds of Hebridean Black dragons. Was it any wonder why the inhabitants of Great Britain called London by several new names, like Hell on Earth, Area 666, the Dragons' Lair, and (most popular of all) the Black Zone?

No human lived in the city or its suburbs anymore, not for almost a year now. Nor had anyone been able to live within a thirty mile radius of the Black Zone, it was suicide to even approach the former city. The dragons had thoroughly and completely taken over and transformed it into their new nesting grounds. The abandoned buildings served magnificently as sheltered and hidden nests for their eggs and hatchlings.

Yet that didn't stop one adventurous and motivated soul from braving its ruins. He had a slight advantage over the thousands of Muggle survivors who'd repeated tried to enter the city over the past few months. That being that he could hide himself and his scent so thoroughly that finding him would be no easy feat. He was an old, powerful, and highly-skilled being of magic.

With the Elder Wand held at the ready, Dumbledore kept half his attention focused on his surroundings. The other half was on the ruins in front of him. The old Black home, Grimmauld Place, had been long destroyed like the rest of London. Its contents burned and left to the whims of nature and the dragons. He had only been back here once since the Great Disaster, that was to find and bring the young boy hiding within to safety before the dragons arrived. But he never found the boy.

The boy had disappeared and not even the Tracing Charm that Dumbledore had applied to his glasses could locate him. Though worried that he couldn't find Harry, Dumbledore found that he wasn't too concerned about his life being in danger. After all, the boy was destined to battle with Tom Riddle as well as possessing a piece of the Dark Lord's soul within himself. Whether he would live or die was yet to be seen, but until that happened, Albus was sure that the boy would and likely could survive even the most impossible situations. The prophecy guaranteed that, at least. But it wouldn't hurt to give the Light a bit more of an advantage.

This was why Albus was here in the feared Black Zone, alone. He was searching for the one last Horcrux that he could still destroy without directly confronting Voldemort. It had taken these past two years, researching into Tom's past and his mind frame, and searching the likely locations for where he'd have hidden his soul fragments.

The previous Horcrux had been a truly dangerous one; hidden in a cave, on an island surrounded by Inferi, and protected by a potion to weaken the drinker. And even after they'd bypassed all the protections, the Inferi still attacked. Alastor Moody had volunteered his services to Dumbledore on that journey and it had turned out to be his last. Though he managed to get the weakened Dumbledore and the Horcrux locket safely away, he had been too grievously wounded during the fight with the Inferi, dying shortly after they stumbled into the Order's hideout. His sacrifice was a truly commendable one worthy of being remembered for ages to come, but it had ultimately turned out to be for naught. The locket they'd recovered had been a fake.

Still, using the clues it had provided and some time to contemplate as he recovered, Albus had realized that he'd only known of one person in Voldemort's previous campaign who'd gone by the initials of R.A.B. It could've only been Regulus Black, Sirius' brother.

Carefully picking his steps as he crossed over the threshold, Dumbledore looked about the building. The inside was just burnt and putrid smelling as the rest of London. Ironically, the place on the staircase where the painting of Sirius' mother had been permanently hung was still relatively in one piece. Though the portrait itself had been incinerated in fires long past, the blackened portrait frame was still securely bound to the wall, incidentally holding it in place and together.

Just as his eyes were starting to slide past, he noticed something peculiar at the foot of the portrait. Moving forward to inspect it, Albus found himself staring at the bleached skeleton of what could've only been the Black family's old House-elf Kreacher. It seemed that the old, vile creature hadn't been willing to flee the house when it was being attacked, too loyal to its past occupants.

"I hope you found your peace, little one," Dumbledore quietly uttered to the skeleton in respect for its passing.

But as he was staring it, he noticed something. There, clenched in its bony fingers, seemed to be a rusty and charred chain of some sort. Curious, he gently and carefully reached forward and pried the bones apart to extract the chain. Pulling the chain up, he noticed something slide off the broken end of it and drop unceremoniously to the ground.

Picking it up, Albus couldn't help but blink in surprise. It was the Horcrux! He honestly hadn't expected to find it so quickly and easily. Especially after the disaster the previous mission had been in comparison! Eyeing the jewelry piece carefully, a smile of relief broke across his old face as a small sigh escaped his lips. The locket was long broken, missing a sizable piece of the bottom half and it's once pristine surface was blackened, likely by dragon fire since normal or other magical flames were nowhere near powerful enough.

"Just two more now," Albus said, returning the broken locket and chain to Kreacher's grasp. If his guess was right, all that remained were Tom's snake familiar, Nagini, and of course Harry. "And then Tom himself."

It wasn't until he noticed a dark shadow moving across the ground around him that Albus noticed something he'd forgotten about. Looking up unsteadily, his fears were confirmed as he caught sight of the massive form of a Black dragon looking down upon him from over the destroyed door frame. There was a look of clear and obvious hunger in its eyes as it stared at him.

Any wizard's first response to such a situation would've been to teleport to safety with Apparation. But, even in its present state of destruction, the old Grimmauld Place's numerous ancient wards and charms still held their power and influence, meaning that Albus was trapped within its confines with a hungry dragon bearing down on him.

"Oh crap," Albus' muttered complaint summed up his situation perfectly.

That day, a very old and powerful wizard met his unfortunate end.

* * *

(**Author's Note**) I must say that if nobody can guess what inspired the Twin's scene, I'll be _**VERY** _surprised! The scene with Draco and the Muggles was inspired by the pilot episode of '_Falling Skies_'. Tell me, did I do this chapter any justice? Is it a good, bad, or horribly boring opening for the story?

**1:** The term that the magical folk prefer to be called is of course 'Wizards/Witches' but the Muggles have adopted the slang of referring to them as 'Mages'. And the fact that wizards truly despise being called that name only reinforces the Muggles' use of it. It's a type of subtle resistance against their magical oppressors.


	2. A Marauder Emerges

**The Marauder**  
By: Tellemicus Sundance  
_Chapter 2: A Marauder Emerges_

**November 26, 1998  
Glasgow, Scotland **(Green Zone) **  
Thursday, noon**

The Cathedral was a very impressive and beautiful piece of architecture, even Draco had to admit that the ancient Muggles who'd constructed it really had done a splendid job on it. He knew that it was the traditional site of Muggle religious worship and spiritual guidance. That was the reason why it had been commandeered and converted into a Black Watch garrison and made into the wizarding outpost in the city. It was to give the Muggles a message: that their world was over and that no place could offer them protection or guidance unless they willingly submitted to their fates as the Wizards' playthings and slaves.

Draco could appreciate the irony and symbolism of it. Symbolism was a potent and powerful weapon if used properly, a lesson his father and Slytherin House had imparted unto him. If one looked carefully, there was a bit of symbolism everywhere in the Magical World, but Black Watch seemed to focus a majority of their public efforts on it. That seemed a little odd to the blonde pureblood prince, but he decided to reserve his opinion of the elite force until after he got to know it better.

Draco stood off to the side of the entrance, simply looking into the long, narrow building. Like most buildings he'd seen in recent times, the former cathedral was in the midst of new construction. When they chose it for their headquarters, Black Watch had decided that they'd make full use of all the interior space that was provided. As such, there was a second floor being built midway up and a special office for high-ranking officials up in the loft. If he was reading the ground plans and general design that was going into it correctly, the first floor of the cathedral would be used for official Ministry business while the second seemed reserved for 'special Black Watch operations'.

Turning around as he heard the approach of another, Draco spotted a bearded old man in Black Watch's black and silver-lined robes walking past him. Discreetly, Draco glared over at the man. It was _him_. Draco hadn't seen him in over a year but he'd recognize that neatly groomed brown and silver beard anywhere. In fact, it was entirely because of him that Draco found himself here in Glasgow as a member of the Watch. He had thrown himself into the Watch's torturous training regimen when he discovered the man's identity and he wouldn't stop until he'd finally gotten the man onto his knees before him. Before the man could notice his hateful expression, Draco's face carefully shifted back to a neutral calm.

Looking back out over the old Muggle city, Draco had to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the pungent scent of wood and oil smoke that was thick in the air. At this point in time, many of the old Muggle power stations had lost power and shut themselves down. Gasoline and oil had been carefully scavenged and hoarded from all over Scotland, the offshore gas mining operations, and the many abandoned automobiles, along with countless other items and trinkets that the people would likely not see again until they managed to get their factories up and running again. As a result, the survivors had found themselves reverting back to their ancestral roots.

"Watchman Malfoy," a tenor voice from nearby spoke up, catching Draco's attention instantly. "We're ready to receive you, follow me."

"Yes sir," Draco answered automatically as he turned to follow the black cloaked man into the cathedral. With just a casual display of their silver badges, the two men were allowed entry and moved through the spacious interior of the former church. Draco didn't bother trying to make small talk with his guide, he'd likely never see the man again, unless out on missions.

Despite the new construction that the magical construction crews were doing, much of the cathedral's former beauty remained untouched. It was a choice that Draco had to silently approve of. Seizing this building and perverting its purpose was insult enough after all. No need to add injury to insult by ruining its many outstanding works of art contained within.

Snapping his attention away from the architecture as they approached a small group of similarly black cloaked people, Draco eyed each of them with careful evaluation. There were five of them, three of them men, but all held themselves like highly-trained fighters and enchanters. The men were the typical standard of Black Watch's grunt men, large and imposing with a curiously large amount of muscle for a wizard. But there was a rather dangerous sleek beauty to the two women. Like how a dagger is beautiful, pretty to look at but dangerous to get close to.

"Squad 14, meet your new teammate," Draco's guide said to the group. "This is Mr. Draco Malfoy; fresh from Hogwarts and the Academy, scoring in the upper tier of his class and training." Turning back to Draco, his guide grinned slightly as he said, "This is your squad for the duration of your mission orders. Enjoy." Without even waiting for a word of farewell, the cloaked man walked off, leaving Draco to the mercies of his new teammates.

"Malfoy, eh?" one of the women said, drawing his attention. "Now this is a surprise. I'd have thought that the pampered whiny brat I knew back in my Seventh Year would've gone ran off in fright after the first day of Watchmen training."

Draco glared coldly at the woman but didn't respond. There was no point in getting into an argument with her or any of them. Besides, he didn't care what they thought of him, not anymore

"So, how much did your father have to pay for you get this commission?" the woman asked snidely.

"No one _buys_ their way into the Watch, Halverson," one of the men stated in a blunt manner. "That is what separates us from the Aurors and politicians."

"Not this brat," Emily Halverson countered, not at all swayed by the man's argument. "He'd have his precious, super-rich family buy him the world, moon, and stars if they were for sale."

"This taunting is pointless and useless," Draco said, finally speaking in a calm and level tone. "I am here to do a job, as are you. Let's leave it at that." Turning the as yet unnamed members, he said, "You know me, but who are all of you?"

Emily just huffed, quite disappointed that the spoiled brat she'd known years ago seemed to have grown up and matured in the following years. Thankfully, she decided to let the subject down.

The man who'd spoken up inclined his head and said, "I am Daniel Paddington." Gesturing to the others in turn, he continued, "These are Joshua Smith, Rebecca Sullivan, and Tiberius LaMotte."

A new figure approached from the side, bearing a badge with the letter 'C' on the black cloak. "Breaking in the new guy, I see. Good, I hope we got all the Hogwarts grudges and rivalries taken care of because we just got a mission."

"What's the situation, sir?" one of the other men asked as all of them turned to face their team captain

"It seems that Arminger's forces over in Angus have been completely annihilated," the Captain said. "Normally, I don't give a bloody hell what that Muggle warlord is up to, but this matter concerns us because of how they were defeated." Holding out some sheets of paper, he said, "Here's the official report of our team who'd been assigned to that task force."

-_Flashback_-

**RM Condor, Scotland (**Green Zone**)  
Three hours earlier…**

The battle was raging in a furious clash that was eerily reminiscent of times long past. It had started simple enough at RM Condor with surprise ambush attacks along the perimeter. Once the attackers had secured a section of that, they opened a hole and allowed the main attack force to drive through in hastily armored trucks and cars. They first targeted the ammunitions building, breaking in and making off with the British Army's weaponry. Then the real attack started as the attackers began ruthless mowing down the scrambling Marines. It was now almost an hour into the firefight and it was clear that the 45 Commando Royal Marines (one of the very few battalions not to be dragged down to England to fight the dragons) were on the verge of being overwhelmed.

The newly appointed Colonel Rodger Richburg was overseeing the battle from his seat in the command truck. The truck was simply an armored bus that was loaded with numerous types of radio and communications equipment that were being manned by a 10-man team to help coordinate the battle. The atmosphere, despite being somewhat warm due to the collected body heat and the electrical equipment, was abuzz with excitement and energy that usually comes from the anticipation of victory.

Colonel Richburg was smiling to himself as he watched the military base go up in smoke, listening to the distant crackle and pops of machine-gun fire and explosions of grenades. If he were honest with himself, Richburg would say that he was surprised that the battle was going so well, especially against a battalion of Royal Marines who reputed to be quite good at their jobs.

But he didn't allow himself to start feeling doubt. After all, this was his battle and he was already greatly anticipating his return to Edinburgh to deliver the news that King Arminger of the victory. The King wanted to seize Condor's military surplus, if there was any remaining anymore. If there was some, it would likely help in his march to control the Strathmore of Angus(1). Maybe Arminger would even appoint him to be his first Field Marshall? A tad premature, given his abundant lack of military experience of course, but that was Richburg's ambition nonetheless.

Yet if there was one thing he could've done without, it was the presence of the five black cloaked 'Watchmen' mages that had accompanied him on this assault. Richburg, like many in the aspiring kingdom, didn't know who they were, where they came from, or how they could do the impossible things they did. All he knew was that the mages had started appearing shortly after Arminger seized control of Edinburgh and were his elite commandos. They rarely took orders from anyone but themselves and seemed to look down on everyone else around them, even Arminger himself if the rumors were true.

As it were, the five of them were gathered outside the command truck watching the battle through binoculars. Occasionally, one or two would disappear for a few moments to do something, which was usually companied by explosions in the battlefield, before returning. All of them had their black hoods up to conceal their features, but it was obvious that all of them were battle-ready men.

"Colonel!" one of the radio operators called out. "We're getting reports of a white mage appearing on the battlefield!"

"What?!" he demanded, turning to face the speaker. He wasn't the only one. The five black mages also turned their attentions towards the speaker, somehow able to hear despite being outside. "Is it fighting for us or against?"

"Against, sir!" the operator reported. "The mage has already killed Delta Company and is now pushing Alpha Company back away from the barracks!"

Turning back to the battle, Richburg snatched up a pair of binoculars himself as a pair of the black mages teleported away with subtle cracks of displaced air. Quickly scanning through the battlefield, Richburg soon found what he was looking for. There was an intense close-quarters fight taking place in front of the barracks building as reported. And in the center of the melee was a white-clothed figure that was spinning and slashing about in a deadly dance, blood flying around him as the bodies of Richburg's troops dropped dead.

Much to his surprise, the pattern didn't change in the least when the two black Watchmen suddenly appeared nearby and started lobbing their magic lights at the fighter. In a burst of speed that seemed almost superhuman from his viewpoint, the white figure closed upon them and struck them down as well. He was somehow able to block or parry the magic lights as he approached them, sending them flying harmlessly into the air. Then, in fast cold strikes, the white mage brought the black mages down with bloody attacks to their torsos and throats.

Once the two black-clad mages were down, there was an audible rallying cry of victory from the defending Marines, invigorated by the success of their unexpected helper. The defenders began pouring out of barracks, most only partly dressed, and armed with what few weapons they'd managed to steak or recover from the bodies of the attacking army. In an almost careless disregard of the battle taking place around him, the white figure moved forward towards the line of parked vehicles, waving about its hands slightly in the air and miraculously repairing an otherwise demolished motorcycle.

At this point, Richburg was frantically issuing orders to his men to have all his soldiers target and destroy the white figure. It was an order made even more frantic when he heard the roar of the motorcycle's engine begin to grow increasingly louder. Returning his attention to the white attacker, he watched as the man raced out away from the battle that consumed the RM Condor and out directly towards the command truck.

"Order our artillery to fire on him!" Richburg yelled, more than loud enough for the line of twenty defending soldiers he'd kept in reserve to hear.

Richburg had three rocket-propelled mortars that quickly answered his call, sending their screaming payloads skyward. The first two missed their target by more than twenty meters to either side, and the rider continued his reckless attack, closing the distance to less than a hundred meters. Much to his satisfaction, the third one came down close enough to send the motorcycle and its dangerous rider flying through the air. But his relief was short-lived as the figure recovered quicker than he thought possible as began sprinting the remaining distance.

"Line up!" his sergeant yelled to the soldiers. The soldiers quickly formed a firing line, aiming at the unfaltering attacker. He was closing the distance fast, almost twenty meters from the firing line and fifty from the command truck. "Ready! FIRE!"

Twenty guns fired at the command, and not one bullet hit. The white figure held out his right arm and a translucent blue shield materialized in front of his palm, deflecting the bullets away from him. All of the soldiers couldn't help but gawk slightly at the surprise. At this moment, Richburg couldn't help but turn towards where the three remaining Watchmen were standing in hopes that they'd deal with this threat. A hope that was instantly dashed as he found that all three of them was missing. And it was this moment of untrained hesitance that allowed the white-clad man to reach their line before they were ready to fire again.

Jumping into the air as he neared them, the figure withdrew a hatchet. Dropping upon one soldier, the hatchet immediately struck, hacking through the man's shoulder and into his chest. Landing around the falling soldier as he pulled his hatchet free, the fighter's other hand flashed out, catching the barrel of the closest rifle and wrenching it to the side. The unexpected assault caused the soldier to reflexively pull the trigger, sending the bullet into the face of his fellows. Yanking the rifle from the startled man, the fighter spun around and used the machine gun as a club, smashing another soldier's temple and killing him. Grabbing the newly dead man, the fighter pulled him in front of him as a shield against a trio of soldiers who were about to fire upon him. Using his borrowed gun, the attacker fired and killed the three of them in quick succession.

Realizing that firearms weren't ideal in this situation, the remaining soldiers quickly withdrew their close combat weapons. Blocking one soldier's attacking battle-ax with his hatchet as he dropped the stolen gun, the figure snatched a dagger from his belt and jabbed it forward into the man's stomach. Spinning around, the fighter deflected a sword with his dagger while bringing his hatchet up and hacking into the attacker's chin, ripping his lower jaw completely out of his face as he yanked his weapon free. One of the soldiers tried slashing at his exposed back, only for the hatchet to come around over his shoulder and block it. A quick slash to the attacker's throat and jugular ended the man's life prematurely. Then, with a supernatural flash of light from his palm, the ten remaining soldiers were blown off their feet as the ground beneath them exploded into a deadly spray of shrapnel.

In the following lull of the battle, Richburg finally was able to see some defining features of the mystery man. The young man, for that's what he clearly was, was clothed in a white cloak with its hood up, hiding his face in shadow. He wore a white leather jacket underneath it with highlights of blue along the seams and edges. There was a satchel hanging snugly from his left shoulder to his right waist and a pair of belts that crisscrossed over his thighs. His pants, boots, and gloves seemed to be of black leather, a new type that he could now clearly and easily recognize as dragon hide. And dripping from his gloved hands, weapons, and staining random portions of his white outfit, was the red of fresh blood. Overall, it was a terrifying image since Richburg knew that the young man was after him.

"KILL HIM!" Richburg was shouting frantically, mostly to the men in the command truck, who weren't strictly _soldiers_. "KILL HIM NOW!" But they couldn't have done anything anyways as the hooded man held his glowing left palm up at the armored truck. A moment later, it erupted in a magical explosion and killed all inside.

-_End of Flashback_-

**Glasgow, Scotland **(Green Zone)

"Any idea who this guy was, Captain?" Emily asked, sounding quite concerned with the peculiar notes that the battle report held.

"Not a clue," the Captain answered immediately. "That's our task. To find this little marauder and stop him before he interferes more directly with our operations."

"Why didn't the three Watchmen who'd witnessed this battle try to stop him instead of fleeing?" Draco asked. It didn't make sense to him. As far as he knew, Black Watch consisted heavily of combat and investigation teams. Why would they run when confronted by this person? Why didn't they surround him and overwhelm him with long-distance spells?

"That particular team's assignment had already been accomplished during the battle," the Captain said stiffly, turning his shaded face towards Draco with a visible frown. "We do not share mission assignments and details with other squads, Watchman. That is what keeps leaks from forming in our force. Remember that or you'll find yourself quickly removed from service."

"Yes sir," Draco submissively, his face blank as he bowed his head in acceptance. Internally, he was grinding his teeth in anger and annoyance. If that was truly the standard policy, it just made his goal far more difficult to achieve. '_Difficult, but not impossible_,' he reminded himself as he cooled his temper.

"What kind of magic was he using, sir?" Paddington asked, his gaze having never once wavered from the report he was reading. "I don't recognize this brand of magic. Was it some kind of spell or magical items he was using?"

Turning to Paddington, the Captain said, "All we know is that this marauder has high levels of combat skill and seems capable of utilizing wandless magic. I can only assume that he's using some kind of magical items to enhance his fighting abilities since wizards cannot use magic without them."

Speaking out a bit more loudly as he addressed the entire squad, he said, "This man is clearly a high level threat. If we manage to find him, we are to take him alive for interrogation and imprisonment. But be warned: if he resists us, do not engage him in combat alone unless there is absolutely no other choice. Clear? The crime scene is three hours and twenty minutes old and counting. Men, women, let's go hunting."

* * *

(**Author's Note**) Sorry about the short chapter. I originally wanted to add another 3,000+ words, but I just couldn't find the inspiration to do so. So, I decided to run with what I had. I hope you like it and I wonder how many people can find the 'movie' reference I used in here.

**1) Strathmore** is a strath in east central Scotland running from northeast to southwest between the Grampian Mountains and the Sidlaws. It is approximately 50 miles (90 km) long and 10 miles (16 km) wide. Strathmore is fertile and has some of Scotland's best arable farmland, producing soft fruits and cereals.


	3. An Unlikely Alliance

**The Marauder**  
By: Tellemicus Sundance  
_Chapter 3: An Unlikely Alliance_

**November 27, 1998  
Arbroath, Scotland** (Green Zone)  
**Evening…**

"Ahh, so good to be home!" Fred said as he entered the front door of their newest hideout.

"Too true, brother of mine!" George agreed happily, relief coloring his words as he slumped down onto the nearest cushioned chair in the living room.

Fleur didn't comment on it as she moved towards the shower to rinse herself clean of the filth that was sticking to her. In the bathroom, she quickly stripped herself and turned the water on, waiting patiently for it to warm up to her liking. Glancing out the window, she gazed out and down the long street of the town they were in. Visible from her viewpoint was the town fishing port and the coast of the North Sea.

Arbroath, like a majority of Scotland, had been largely spared from the worst of the Great Disaster and the dragons. However, the citizens quickly found themselves under the iron thumb of wizards, enslaving them to their bidding. For the most part, their lives had simply gone on like normal, but they were forced to pay a toll in food and manpower to their magical slavers. But, with that despicable King Arminger sniffing, poking, and prodding along their borders, it was only a matter of time before these people were forced to either put up with yet another sadistic overlord or start fighting back. Fleur had a pretty good idea she knew which choice they would pick.

Climbing into the shower, her idle thoughts turned to what her life had become in recent months. It was a sad, far-cry from what future she'd once imagined and hoped to have when she was younger. Fleur had always assumed that she'd marry into a high-society family back in France, her Veela genes alone guaranteed that she'd have her pick of a harem of suitors after all. That she'd live a life of politics, trading witty banter with other politicians and their spouses, all of them trying to outmaneuver one another for whatever reason. That she'd be eating exquisite foods and wines, languishing in some luxurious palace down on the Mediterranean coast, and wearing the latest fashion clothes to charity balls and Ministry events.

Then she came to England and met her dear William Weasley and her desires changed. She no longer wanted the high-society life. No, a quiet life as a housewife, raising her and Bill's children, making them all their meals, and speaking to Bill about his day after coming home from Gringotts. It was the exact opposite of all her childhood fantasies. And, ironically, that was what she discovered she wanted most in her life, after meeting him.

And then the unthinkable happened…

The overpopulated dragon preserves failed and the thousands of dragons contained within them escaped all over the world, torching human and magical societies with equal ferocity. Her dearly beloved Bill had been killed during a surprise Death Eater attack on them while they were performing some secret mission for the Order of the Phoenix. Bill's younger brother, Percy, ascended to the seat of Minister of Magic after Fudge was killed by dragons during the wizard's final escape from London. Percy, the rule-abiding and self-righteous prick, created a new magical police force for himself, arrested his parents, and issued bounties on his remaining family and Fleur herself when he didn't learn what he wanted to learn from them. She had been living on the run with Fred and George Weasley ever since.

They had mostly tried to stay off of the Ministry's radar by living their lives mostly like Muggles. And, after a bit of debate between them, it was decided that they'd mostly stick to Scotland since it had the fewest dragon attacks in a year, generally only one a month. That was much better odds than the poor people trapped in England had. Attacks there varied from two to three a month to two to three a day.

It was only in the past six months that they had started regularly robbing from the Ministry in a spiteful need and, admittedly, misguided attempt to get back at the Twin's Minister brother. Though they had been living apart from the magical society, they still kept regular tabs on it to see how things were progressing there and if there was ever a chance that they might one day be able to reclaim their lives in it. Needless to say, they were quite disgusted by what Percy was turning the Magical World into.

A loud knocking on the door quickly snapped Fleur out of her thoughts. Shutting of the shower and wrapping herself up in a towel as she climbed out, she grabbed her nearby wand and cautiously cracked the bathroom door open. There, at the end of the hall, she could see the front door to their apartment and watched as one of the Twins approached it, his wand hidden behind his pants leg.

Waving his wand around his head, the Twin cast a silent charm on himself to change his appearance. His red hair changed to a greying brown with a large bald spot. His face gained numerous age lines, a few burn scars, and most of his freckles disappeared. After a quick glance at a nearby mirror to quickly survey his appearance, he nodded in satisfaction and opened the door. Though she couldn't see a majority of their visitor, there was the faintest tensing in the Twin's body that alerted her to potential danger. As she was closing the bathroom door to hurriedly get herself dressed, she caught a quick glimpse at the dark hooded cloak that the visitor wore.

_This is __**not**__ gonna be good!_

* * *

Crouched upon the rooftop, he watched as the people of Arbroath went about their lives. There was much activity on the streets this evening because of the earlier battle on the outskirts. Excited and fearful babble drifted up into his ears, a not-so-distant white noise that, like the heavy scents of wood and oil smoke, he ignored to the best of his ability.

Across the street below him, he watched as a group of black-cloaked people gathered outside one particular apartment building. He had been expecting them to come, sooner or later, after his hand in the battle. After all, tyrants rarely appreciated there being dangerous rogue elements that weren't on their payroll running about, usually mucking up their schemes. He wanted these mages to find him however, to answer some questions he had. He didn't expect many answers, if any, but it was still worth a try.

He'd been watching them ever since his magic-detector had sensed the arrival of seven different individuals. Glancing again at the small screen that was attached to his left forearm bracer, he smiled mirthlessly. The detector was a special American-made tool developed by their mages in an effort to locate potential magicals and give them the option to be trained, a priceless tool to be used and a final parting gift from his former guardian and mentor. The dragon hide gloves he wore were also quite priceless to him as well since they acted like a focus for his magic in the same manner that his old wand use to be.

These mages were certainly quite honor-less. Three of them were pounding on the door to distract the inhabitants, who were also mages. The three others were circling around the building, likely searching for other entry points to sneak in and attack from unexpected angles. And the seventh mage, likely the leader, was watching the whole scene from a far enough distance to not be caught up in stray spell-fire, but close enough to see the proceedings. The only reason he could surmise why these black mages were mounting an attack on these inside was because they knew as he did that they were magical as well.

Rubbing his hatchet in a yearning to feel its comforting weight in his hand, he waited for the right moment to attack. He had waited and trained for months for this war, he could wait a few more minutes before unleashing his wrath on these black hearted enforcers. Tapping on his detector, he zoomed in on the three mages inside the apartment. One of them, clearly marked as a female, was scurrying about in the bathroom. Hopefully she was getting herself dressed. Incidentally, one of the black mages was hiding beside the window to the bathroom was probably receiving a free peepshow. He would be likely be one of the first to enter and strike, probably trying to have his way with the lady if he managed to subdue her. One of the males was answering the door and trying to distract the three in front. Meanwhile the third male mage was hurriedly running about the bedrooms, packing their essentials to run if he was smart.

A loud slamming of the front door alerted him to the ending of the pleasantries and the start of the battle. Readying himself, he watched as the three mages in front backed away from the door, seemingly leaving the apartment in peace. Only for them to suddenly turn around and cast a power Blasting Hex into the front door. The entire front of the building seemed to implode on itself slightly as the sheer force of the hex reduced the door to splinters and deadly shrapnel. The blast was also the signal for the three surrounding mages to begin their assault. As this was happening, the oppressive weight of an anti-Apparation field settled upon the area, trapping all inside. The sound of the attack quickly alerted the local townsmen of the trouble and garnered a loud of cries of surprise and even more spectators, something that all of the mages ignored.

* * *

Fred was sweating slightly out of nervousness and fear as he waving his wand about the bedroom, shrinking their precious few valuables and clothes. As he was doing this, one frantic thought kept going through his mind: _How did they manage to find them so __**soon**__?!_

The three of them had gotten very accustomed to living on the run, especially since they'd become the magical Ministry's most renowned thieves and most wanted terrorists, second only to Harry Potter. But there generally a safe period of at least a week before they needed to flee their hideout and find a new one and they'd just scarcely finished unpacking this one!

As thought went through his mind, he both heard and felt a powerful explosion that shook the very foundations of the building. The attack caught him by surprise as disrupted his footing momentarily. Then he felt the weight of anti-Apparation wards descend upon him. Shit, these bastards were fast! If there was anything to be said about living on the run, it was that one developed a very acute sense of paranoia and quick reflexes. These skills came invaluable when reacting to unexpected ambushes. And it was thanks to these that when he spotted the light of an approaching spell casting shadows across the bedroom walls as the magic raced towards him that he was able to instinctively throw himself to the side, just missing the blazing green of the Killing Curse.

Spinning to face his opponent whilst still in mid-roll, he sent an instant retaliatory Blasting Hex. Unlike the Killing Curse, the Blasting Hex affected a much wider area, thus making it perfect for disrupting surroundings. The area he aimed for was the wall itself, blasting it outwards. Thanks to the newly-made window, he clearly saw the flailing body of a black cloaked figure being sent careening through the air.

Fred wasn't given the option to flee anything more than a brief moment of relief at surviving the surprise attack as a piercing scream cut the air from elsewhere in the apartment. Spinning around, he threw open the door and raced towards the scream's origins. "Fleur!" As he was entering the hallway, he found himself being the target of yet more spell fire.

* * *

As the sounds of fighting broke out inside the apartment, the observer finally leapt into action. Channeling his innate magic through the dragon hide of his gloves, he reached out and used his magic as telekinesis, grabbing hold of the three black mages in front of him and yanking them backwards, off their feet. The unexpected powerful force caught them completely unawares as they were slammed mercilessly into the ground, knocking the air from their lungs. All they could do was stare up in surprise and undisguised shock as white-clad figure silently descended upon them.

His booted feet smashed into the center one's chest, instantly breaking his ribs and crushing the vital organs within and sending a fountain of blood out of his mouth and nose. The other two were caught in the same attack by a descending hatchet and dagger, both burying themselves into their chests and puncturing their hearts and lungs. They'd both be dead within minutes, if they were lucky. In the split second moment after he attacked, there was a slight silence that had descended upon the area. He could hear that the fighting inside the apartment was dying down. Good, the last thing he wanted was to charge headlong into a full-blown magic fight, that a reckless choice he was no longer compelled to make. And, if it came down to it, he could still save the three mages inside if they'd been taken captive.

Yanking his weapons out of the soon-to-be corpses as he stood off his impromptu landing pad, the white assassin turned towards where the leader was hiding and held up a hand, silently beckoning the man to come and avenge his fallen underlings. All he got in response was the man's form vanishing away in Apparation as the anti- field died away.

"Who the bloody hell are you?!" a rough, angry voice demanded. Turning to the side, the white-cloaked assassin spotted a surprisingly familiar face. A face he'd not seen in almost three years, and it brought a smile to his face for the first time in weeks. Standing in the smashed doorway, holding his wand threateningly at the only standing man as he hurriedly searched for any more hidden attackers, was George Weasley.

"It's been a long time, George," he said, smiling lightly as he nodded his hooded head towards the confused redhead. "Or are you Fred? I never could tell you two apart."

Before the Twin could form a reply, a number of armored men quickly rushed forward from the surrounding crowd. Judging from the man's tone of voice and the way he held himself, he was clearly military trained. "What's going on here?!"

"Sorry about the disturbance, Sergeant," the white mage said, turning to face the Marine as his smile vanished. "We were just performing a public service and cleaning up some of the _filth_ that's been running amok lately."

The Sergeant cast a quick look at the corpses at the white mage's feet and the blood stained weapons and clothing he wore and wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He nodded as he turned his attention back to him and a sudden look of recognition lit up his face. "You're the guy from this morning, aren't you?" At the man's nod, he smirked as he continued. "Well, in that case, do you require any of our services right now? My men and I owe you a great debt."

Waving the offer away, the mage said, "Maybe later. I've still got business to attend to." Walking up to the Twin, he flicked his weapons and washed them of the blood before storing them on his double belts. Looking at his magic-detector, he breathed a sigh of relief. Of the original ten signals of magic, there were still five that remained, that meant that there were at least two captives. Perfect.

Entering the apartment, he focused his magic again. He summoned all the splinters of the former door, guided them back into position on the door frame, and used his magic to fuse them back into their original state, repairing the door within seconds. Once safely hidden from the numerous eyes of crowd, he turned to face the Twin who was still staring at him with his wand at the ready, trying to figure out who was hidden under the hood.

Smiling again as he reached up and lowered his cloak's hood, he said, "So, which one are you again? Fred or George?"

The Twin gawked, flinching in surprise as he stared at the unmasked man. "…Harry?!"

* * *

With a jolt, he was suddenly awakened. Time and training had taught him that the abruptness of his return to consciousness had been influenced by magic. Something that became even more apparent after he was immediately awash with sharp and severe pain in his left leg and a throbbing migraine. It was only his pride as a man that kept him from moaning out in pain.

"Wakey, wakey, little dragon boy!" a deep voice uttered in a seemingly-playful tone as a foot kicked somewhat roughly into his chest.

"That's enough, George," another, almost identical, voice said from somewhere nearby.

Lifting his head from the floor he was laying on, Draco found himself staring at a collection of figures he recognized. The first one to catch his eye was the staggeringly beautiful blonde Veela who he vaguely remembered from the Triwizard Tournament. The next two, one of whom was clearly the one to kick him, were a pair of nearly-identical redheads. But the fourth was the one who quickly garnered the most attention, a hooded white-cloaked man who had various fresh blood stains lining his otherwise clean clothing.

"So, are you going to answer our questions or are you going to take a bite from that little pill hidden in your tooth too?" one of the Twins demanded, his wand at the ready. It took Draco a moment to realize what he was talking about and, from the looks of the body at the other end of the room, it was obvious he wasn't the first one they'd tried to interrogate.

"Standard Black Watch anti-interrogation procedure, if the operative is in any captured by the enemy," Draco quoted in a neutral, almost robotic voice.

"And yet you haven't yet bitten down on it," the Veela pointed out from where she was standing over by the hooded man.

"Strange as it may seem," Draco said, biting back the urge to use a derisive tone against the half-breed. "I have plans don't involve my dying."

"Surprise, surprise," one of the Twins uttered in a clearly mocking tone.

"The little ferret doesn't wanna die," the other finished for his brother.

"Mocking me is pointless," Draco said, forcefully controlling his temper as he'd been trained to. Anger was useful, but only when it could be controlled and focused to finish one's mission. That was one of Black Watch's first lessons they'd taught their new recruits. "And this interrogation is useless. I'm only freshly employed into Black Watch, so I know next to nothing."

"How about what your mission here was?" one Twin probed, not at all believing the platinum blonde.

Draco closed his eyes, considering. If they continued this line of interrogation, the charms enacted on the suicide pill that'd been inserted into one of his molars would cause him to reflexively bite down on it. Call Draco what you will, but suicidal was not one of them, not anymore. And he knew of a possible way to circumvent the charms. He just hoped they'd work properly.

"Remove the pill," he commanded them as he opened his mouth widely, displaying the protruding object within.

His captors glanced between themselves momentarily, clearly not anticipating this and caught unsure of how to proceed. Just as Draco was about to snap at them again, the hooded man raised his arm towards him, clenching his fingers as though grabbing something, and yanking outwards slightly. Draco yelped reflexively from the pain of his molar being wrenched out of his jaw. In his pain, he ignored the floating poison pill as it drifted into the hooded man's outstretched hand. After a moment, the Veela moved forward, prying Draco's mouth open, and casting a quick healing charm into the bleeding cavity that the tooth had left behind.

Swallowing the blood still drenching his mouth and tentatively probing the healed wound, he glanced up at the Veela and reluctantly said, "Thank you." All he got in response was a cold nod before she moved away.

"You have no love for Black Watch, do you, Draco?" a hauntingly familiar voice asked from the hooded man. Draco's gaze snapped up to the man instantly, almost unwilling to believe his ears. After a moment, Draco regained control of himself as an angry frown crossed his face.

"Black Watch is nothing more than a private police force controlled by the bastard who ruined my family, Potter," Draco growled out, ignoring the shifting surprise of the other three who were clearly taken aback by his quick realization of who the hooded man's identity was and the vehemence of his response. "And all they care about is lining their own pockets with the gold of those who they imprison or ruin."

"I'm sorry about your loss," Harry acknowledged, nodding slightly towards him. "I had heard that the Malfoy family was found guilty of espionage by Black Watch, but none of the charges had ever been fully disclosed."

"That's because there _were none!_" Draco bit out. "I admit my family had dealings with Voldemort in the past. But that was the _past! _We have been nothing but supportive of this new ministry that '_Percy the Marvelous'_ has been building. But it would seem that he hasn't been able to _completely_ sever all ties with his family."

"The Malfoy-Weasley blood feud?" one of the Twins asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Draco nodded. That blood feud had been an on-going rivalry for generations between their families. It was not something that could be so easily or completely let go of by any member of the two families. Weakened and ignored, but never truly forgotten.

Harry snorted slightly in amusement, earning questioning stares and glares from all present. "It would seem, Draco, that we share the same goal for once."

"That being…?"

"The disbandment of Black Watch," Harry said, finally reaching up and lowering his hood, leaving his face visible for Draco to see at last. "And the end of Percy's rule as Minister."

While the Twins and the Veela were staring at Harry in honest surprise at his seemingly-impossible goal, Draco's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in consideration. "What are you proposing, Potter?"

"An alliance," Harry said simply. "Your team was sent here to capture or kill me, correct?" At Draco's nod, he continued, "I will continue to do such actions. I will draw the Ministry's attention and direct their fire at me. You can be the shadow that slips in while their distracted. With me out here and you inside, they will most definitely fall."

"…It will not be that easy," Draco pointed out. "and they will not fall to just a pair of wizards like us alone."

"Who said anything—?" "—about him being alone?" the Twins demanded immediately, cocking grins gracing their faces. "This matter is also—" "—a family dispute of the Weasleys—" "—and we will help settle it!"

"It's better than scurrying about in the mud, I guess," the Veela agreed, shrugging her shoulders in a slightly careless manner. "At least we'll finally be doing something."

For a moment, Harry looked uncertain that he wanted to include the three volunteers in his revolt and schemes. But, after a second of consideration, he just smiled slightly as he nodded. "Sounds like we've got a plan."

"Great, now untie me!" Draco barked, reminding everyone of that minor fact.

* * *

(**Author's Note**) Merry Christmas everyone! Here's my gift to all of you!

Whew, that's another done. Hope this one was enjoyable and telling of what's to come. I wonder how many of you saw this coming when you saw the chapter title? Yes, Draco is going to be playing _big_ role in this story. And, looking at it's overall plotline, I can honestly say that Voldemort is going to be palying a comparatively _small_ role. This story is going be about a revolution. If you don't like this, don't read.

So, who can guess what the Marauder's next move is going to be and why?


	4. Planning for War

**The Marauder**  
By: Tellemicus Sundance  
_Chapter 4: Planning for War_

**December 2, 1998  
Howden Reservoir, England** (Yellow Zone)  
**Morning…**

It was a cold and quiet but thankfully peaceful morning that dawned. The rustling of water breaking on the shores, the quiet roar of rushing water as it emptied out at the base of the massive damn that trapped it between the pair of hills that formed the majority of the small river valley. It was a common enough sight. But the three-meter wide glowing sphere of yellowish light that suddenly sprung to life at the shore of the reservoir was anything but common. It shone and glittered in the morning light like something otherworldly, something that wouldn't have seemed out of place in a B-rated sci-fi television series.

Then a number of shadowed silhouettes appeared, emerging from the light and walking somewhat unsteadily across the ground as they addressed to the change of inclination and the gravel under their feet. As the final of the five figures emerged from the strange light phenomenon, it turned back towards it, flicking a few buttons on a gadget he held in his hand towards it. With a slight influx, the phenomenon suddenly imploded upon itself and vanished from sight.

Turning back to his awestruck and dumbfounded companions, he grinned at their expressions. Holding up the small gadget in his hand, Harry said, "It's called a Peragro Mundus, originally designed and built in the US and _much_ safer than Apparation or Portkeys as far as I've been told."

"I want one!" the Weasley Twins instantly cried simultaneously. Even the Malfoy heir seemed to nod in agreement, still somewhat in a state of shock.

Grinning crookedly at them, Harry shook his head as he safely returned the device to his satchel. "This is the only one I've got and it stays with me. Sorry, boys. You'll have to go to New York to get one for yourselves."

Looking around, the lone woman of the group asked, "Where are we, Harry?"

Turning to the woman, his crooked grin turned into a warm smile. "We're at the Howden Reservoir on the Derbyshire side, less than half a kilometer from my home." Motioning them to follow him, he walked south along edge of the paved road at a surprisingly quick walk.

"So, what have you been doing these past few years, Harry?" George asked as they caught up to Harry's fast pace.

"Yeah, nobody's seen or heard from you since the Disaster," Fred added. "Everyone thought you'd been killed by now."

"Not yet, nope," Harry said, shaking his head slightly. "I got rescued from London shortly before the dragon horde arrived by an American Dragon Slayer. He wanted me to help him with something and he taught a lot of things."

"…Did something happen to him?" Draco asked, not missing how Harry used the past tense to describe the situation.

"Not really," Harry admitted. "What he wanted my help with was a bit of a long-term goal. So he taught me how to fend for myself and, once he decided I was good enough, he left to go dragon-hunting fulltime. That was about eight months ago and I haven't heard from him since."

"Eight months? What have you been do…ing…?" George trailed off on his question as the group rounded a hill and caught sight of what lay before them. The others were likewise surprised by what they saw surrounding the Howden Dam.

It was a community of quite recent construction. The dam of the reservoir served as the community's southeastern edge, a large and thick stone wall rose up and followed the direction of the dam across the road and up the nearby hill. A good portion of the forested hill had been cleared of trees and excavated into level ground. From the short distance away, the three newcomers could clearly hear the distinctive chipping and tapping of hammer and chisels on stone and wood. Along with wood smoke, a strong scent of earth and concrete was blowing in the winds. It was all-too-obvious that the source was from the walls which were at least three meters tall in places (and still apparently rising) that were surrounding the community.

Behind these walls, they could glimpse the roofs or upper stories of various partially constructed buildings that were slowly starting to fill in the excavated areas in the hillside. There was considerable cloud of white chimney smoke and plumes of ash rising into the air, clearly from those buildings. The din of people and animals were faintly audible from beyond the noise of construction and even visible through the tall gatehouse, walking about to and fro along the dirt streets and pathways. All of the clamor and activity suggested a very lively and stable community, which was rather rare of the feuding and warlike lands that England had degenerated to recent times.

Yet what was most attention-grabbing was the large, sloping glacis-walled castle that was nestled right up against the shore of the reservoir and the dam themselves. The castle, though clearly still somewhat under construction, was quite massive and very, _very_ intimidating and awe-inspiring due to its large walls. It looked remarkably like something right out of a history book of medieval times.

Looking over at Harry, Fleur saw a definite gleam of well-deserved pride cross his expression as he watched their reactions. Despite her best effort, there was a clear note of respectful surprise in her voice as she said, "You've been busy."

Harry just chuckled at the statement. Turning to the community, he yelled out, "_We have guests!_"

"Harry!" several voices called out in greeting as numerous workers paused to turn and wave greetings to the young man and his guests. "Welcome back!" Harry was smiling widely as he started walking forward towards the large construction project.

As they were passing through the gatehouse, the newcomers couldn't help but to stare at the surroundings, trying to pick up on everything as quickly as they could. In front of the gatehouse and cut ever deeper into the hillside was a moat, using water from the reservoir itself. There was a narrow wooden drawbridge crossing the moat that was presently down. The walls and gatehouse seemed to be comprised of a mixture of quarried and shaped stone blocks held in place by high volumes of concrete and mortar, though it was still lacking a roof right now. The passageway through the gatehouse was narrow, scarcely big enough for a small, compact vehicle to fit through without scratching its sides. Yet due to their observations, they spotted a large number of equally-spaced slits in the walls and ceiling, as well as two raised portcullis that lined the two entrances of the passageway.

On the other side was another flooded moat over which was another narrow drawbridge, separating the wall from the community beyond. The community itself looked to be on the verge of positively thriving with its numerous buildings in sight. Some buildings were nearing completion, like the nearby mill and hospital. Yet others, like what were clearly a church and another shop, were little more than just a frame with scaffolding. The rest of the buildings seemed to be family homes and garages or barns, also in various stages of construction.

Children were running about in the streets, chasing chickens, pigs, sheep, and even an occasional goat. Men and women were walking through the streets, carrying various knickknacks in their arms or on carts. Some were riding or guiding horses through the streets. Though there was an occasional automobile parked on the street, it was quite obvious that they were rarely, if ever, used nowadays. But on the whole, everyone seemed to be well-fed and in quite high spirits, considering the general atmosphere of Great Britain these days.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Harry said suddenly, drawing his guests' attention. With a broad sweep of his arm to indicate the community, he proudly said, "Welcome to the Howden Homestead." Gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb, he added, "Overlooked and protected by the Howden Castle, designed and mostly built by yours truly." Then his tone changed to somewhat embarrassed as he continued, "A lot of the people here thought I was doing too much so they insisted on building the outer ward and defenses themselves."

"You run this place, Harry?" George asked, somewhat dumbfounded by the environment he found them in.

"Nope," Harry said, smiling cheerfully. "Why would I want such a boring and tedious job? But there is only one rule in the Homestead: everyone does their fair share to earn their keep. Though, given it's gonna be winter soon, there's not much they _can_ do aside from building." Shaking himself of his jumbled thoughts, he once again gestured towards the castle as he said, "Come on, I'll show you your rooms. I assume you two will want to share, right?"

The twins glanced at each other momentarily before shrugging nonchatantly.

Though only partially completed, the castle was on an elevated margin of ground, making it seem even larger than it was and even more impressive than the homestead had been. Even if she had no education in architecture and engineering, it was obvious even to Fleur that the heightened elevation, sloping walls of the castle, and the third, even larger moat surrounding its edges would offer a critical advantage to the defenders. There were numerous arrow-slits for gunners to shoot from and stone machicolations lined the tops of the walls with the parapets. And all that was only the exterior that they could see before they had to enter another long passageway to reach the inner ward.

The passageway itself was underground and must've been more than a hundred meters in length. It was filled with rough and uneven stair steps that forced them walk along a shifting surface that could've easily caused them to stumble and trip if it weren't for the electric lights overhead. There were even more arrow-slits lining the walls and ceiling, numerous abrupt or hairpin turns, and even long stretches of areas that were open to the air above that could've provided the defenders up on the walls with easy targets. At the end of the passageway, they had to climb a steep stairwell almost two stories before finally reaching a portcullis-guarded gateway just under the northern wall. By this point, all but Harry were panting and sweating, their leg muscles burning fiercely from the long walk through treacherous terrain.

They emerged from the tunnel into the courtyard of the castle itself. Inside here, there was an even greater deal of commotion and activity. Young teenagers and adults, both men and women, were being drilled in combat nearby, using clubs, axes, hammers, and shields. Up on the eastern battlements and walls, several squads of defenders were doing target practice with rifles and pistols they'd somehow foraged or built, firing out into the reservoir at floating targets in the waters. The entire southern inner wall was lined with numerous shops, huts, and what looked to be a large inn. Nestled in the corners between the walls were large stone towers that reached easily three stories higher than the wall. A blacksmith was beating a red-hot piece of metal into shape on his anvil, a carpenter was carefully sculpting a piece of wood that would eventually become a chair leg, a tanner was liming a large mass of cowhide, and so forth.

Harry guided them into the large tower keep that was located near the north and west walls. The ground level was clearly the dining hall of the castle occupants, with staircases and elevators leading further up the structure or down into the cellars, which had the pleasant odors of food wafting up. There were several servants hurriedly cleaning up the remnants of breakfast, most of whom greeted Harry with a cheerful wave.

Turning to Draco, Harry said, "Could you wait here? I'm gonna show them their rooms. I don't think you wanna live here, with us."

Draco eyed the lost Gryffindor critically for a moment before shrugging and taking a seat at one of the tables, clearly relishing the chance to sit down and relax his aching legs.

Taking mercy on his remaining and clearly exhausted companions, Harry led them into the closest elevator and took them two levels up. There, Harry finally led them out and down a short hallway into a central circular chamber that vaguely reminded the Weasley Twins of the Gryffindor Tower's Common Room before he gestured towards two particular doorways.

"These rooms should suffice for you," Harry said, turning to grin at his companions. "I'm afraid that they're all that I can spare for the time being. Why don't you guys go freshen up? Meet Draco and I in the dining hall below when you're ready to talk strategy with us. We can catch up then."

Before they could respond, he turned and disappeared around the corner back towards the staircase.

"He's…changed," Fleur said after a moment of thoughtful silence. The young man she'd just followed was so very different from the little boy she'd first encountered at Hogwarts. Back then, he was a fidgety, humble, and shy boy with a violent temper and an obvious hunger to prove himself. Yet now…it was like he'd suddenly transformed into someone else entirely. Strong, confident, calm, and yet also caring and supportive of his fellow man, if the large numbers of cheerful and willing residents of his new castle were any indication.

"I don't even recognize him anymore," Fred commented, also staring back towards where Harry had left.

"How'd he become so cool without us?" George asked quietly, a type of spiteful humor in his voice.

Finally shaking herself free of her immediate thoughts, Fleur turned and entered one of the rooms. Inside, she found a somewhat large room with a single bed, dresser, closet, and desk lining three sides of it with a large, thick rug in its center. There was an open doorway that she could see was a washroom, complete with a loo, sink, and shower. Above the bed was a stained glass window that had the image of a forest and distant mountain. Overall, a very simple but functional setup that she found most agreeable to her.

Setting her bag down on the bed, she went straight for the washroom to take of some business she'd been suppressing.

* * *

Draco and Harry silently eyed each other from opposite sides of the table. Though he had placed his wand on the table, Draco was itching to grab it and hold it defensively in front of him. He had more or less been captured and drafted into Harry's army. He'd be a fool to let his guard down now that they were in the heart of Potter's kingdom.

'_Potter's kingdom?_' he thought derisively. '_Who'd have thought that whiny little Potter from three years ago would make himself into a king in all but name and crown?_' The irony that such a goal was more along the lines of what he himself wanted to do years ago was not lost on Draco.

"Kind of risky bringing a known, old foe into the heart of your headquarters, isn't it, Potter?" Draco finally asked, having grown tired of the uneasy silence.

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "_If_ this was my real headquarters. As it is, this is just a side-project of mine I've been indulging in recently." Grinning slightly at Draco's obvious confusion, he said, "Did you really think I'd make myself into such an obvious target by hiding in a magically-constructed castle meant to protect the Muggles? I haven't survived this long by being daft after all."

Nodding slowly in agreement, Draco continued to eye Harry carefully. It would've made sense that this wasn't actually Harry's main hideout. With its vast size and the eventual political and military power that the castle would command over the countryside and people, making this place into a hideout would be counterproductive to the very principle of _hiding_. Of course, there was always the chance that Harry was using the old 'hiding in plain sight' idea and was trying to plant false leads in Draco just in case he might betray him or was interrogated.

Sighing, Draco shook his head to clear it before eyeing Harry again. "What happened to your wand? I haven't seen it since you caught me."

Harry's expression saddened as his gaze fell. That was answer enough for Draco. "I see, so that's why you've been using such strange magic. Not because you _want_ to, but because you _need_ to." Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

"Draco, just how well trained in subterfuge and espionage are you?" Harry asked.

Catching onto Harry's meaning quickly, Draco said, "Passable. The Black Watch cares less about infiltration and sabotage than it does with combat and interrogation. They generally leave stuff like that up to the Aurors, Hitwizards, and others."

"In that case, feigning your death isn't an option," Harry said thoughtfully. "They'll probably interrogate you when you return and I doubt they'll just allow you resign from the Watch. This is a problem."

"Don't just assume you know everything, Potter," Draco remarked, smirking casually at Harry's confusion and curiosity. "For the Watch, it's all about public image and their next big payday. They have to be seen doing something productive for the good of the community to legitimately warrant their continued existence. But while they do have intense training programs, they cycle through new cadets very quickly. Only the truly hardiest and most loyal to Percy remain after three months of enlistment."

"Really?" Harry asked, grinning crookedly. "That's interesting. I was completely wrong about the Watch then."

"Not in the least, actually," Draco admitted. "The Watch are full of paranoid, greedy fanatics. One of their standard policies is for squads to never share information on their missions with one another. They hold regular and random interrogations of their newer recruits to determine their loyalty. But they have a very long list of waiting recruits wanting to enlist because being a member of Black Watch has become something of a mark of esteem in society."

"These guys are gonna be tough to beat," Harry said, thinking hard. "Still, it's a good thing we don't have to topple them directly, only Percy. That's going to be much easier."

"How so?" Draco asked, somewhat confused. Wouldn't it have been easier to attack a smaller target on the totem of power than to aim straight for the summit?

Harry stood up and walked over towards the fireplace. He started to pace slowly as he gathered his thoughts. Then he started to talk. "I admit that I know very little about war and strategy." Harry paused for a moment before, in a quieter voice, he continued. "But I think we should take a few lessons from the Americans."

Draco visibly rocked back into his chair. "_What?!_"

"I've been studying history lately and I've noticed something interesting. Percy has, whether knowingly or not, recreated the very same governmental situation of the Third Reich." Harry explained calmly, almost solemnly. "Like Hitler of Nazi Germany, he's either discredited or eliminated any and all opposition to his rule. By using the 'leader principle,' he's made his words and choices as Minister above all other laws. Top officials report to Percy and followed his policies, but they have considerable autonomy. However, the government isn't a coordinated and cooperating body, but rather a collection of factions struggling to amass power and gain favor with the Minister. Granted, he's mostly repaired and restored the economic stability the Great Disaster caused and ended mass unemployment. And it's thanks to the return of economic stability that gives Percy and his regime enormous popularity."

"So, you're basically admitting that the rest of the Wizarding World sees Percy as some kind of savior?" Draco asked.

"More or less, I'm afraid," Harry admitted. "Though it's quite arrogant, there's a reason he's been named 'The Marvelous' after all. But I wasn't kidding when I said Percy's Ministry was much more corrupt than you'd first think. They have drastically limited civil rights as a 'temporary' measure. It makes sense with the crisis that Percy was mostly able to pull them out of recently. Still, they are following the recipe of Germany in the 30's and 40's. So, we do the one thing a dictatorship can't handle. We make them look bad. Make people question what they are hearing from the Ministry and why such measures are still necessary."

"Make them look bad?" Draco asked in a confused tone.

"Yes, we need to make our revolution into a 'people's war of liberty.' Think about what was done to stop our three friends upstairs from what they've been doing these past few months," Harry said, grinning slightly at them to show his approval. "They've been raiding warehouses, shops, and homes, stealing from those who had more than they needed, but never took a life that was unnecessary. In that case, they've shown themselves to be 'honorable thieves' and not the power-hungry Dark wizards the Ministry claims them to be. Thus, if they'd kept to the course, they'd have made themselves into a nuisance that Percy would've no longer been able to ignore. He'd have had you hunt them down endlessly, not just setting up guards in key locations on the off-chance they might get caught."

Draco frowned at the thought. "Won't doing that also just make Percy pass more laws? Harsher ones?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably…yes, it will," he admitted with a sigh. "But right now, the government holds all the power and, most importantly, the _image_ of power. When the government is forced to start covering up events, the witnesses will know what they saw isn't what was reported. Rumors will spread. We need to force the Ministry to get desperate and start taking a military stance that affects the common civilian much more deeply. Make the people start to push, then shove, and then fight back in order to get their freedoms back, like in the American Revolution. Right now, we have no credibility with the public. We have to destroy theirs whilst at the same time build up our own. I've spent years in the limelight while at Hogwarts. I've got some ideas how to get the public's attention."

Draco didn't bother suppressing the annoyed snort of disgust at Harry's remark. Still, that didn't make it any less true. For his part, Draco sat quietly as he considered Harry's proposal. He could see several advantages to the plan, but also a level of naiveté about the risks. Harry had raised several good points about Percy's overall platform of power and how he maintained it. But that was against a democracy with a very lethargic bureaucratic tail. Most of the Black Watch could walk freely in public in full uniform because they were still 'aiding in reconstruction and protection.'

Even if Harry's plan worked completely, it assumed the Aurors and Watchmen would stand aside when the public had enough. Risking everything on the assumption that the house of cards would fall when pushed because of a public uprising was beyond foolish. Even if the commander folded, one 'true believer' with a wand casting a spell at the wrong time could create a bloody, free-for-all massacre that could leave hundreds of civilian witches and wizards dead.

"Well?" Harry asked, breaking Draco's thought train. "What do you think?"

Draco took a moment to collect his thoughts before he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. "You have a lot of good ideas there. But you are only really addressing one part of the problem: making the Ministry ineffective. I think we also need to take the fight to the Aurors and _especially_ the Black Watch. We need to thin their ranks and target Percy's main supporters. Without taking out his lieutenants and true believers, Percy will be able to ignore your popular pressure."

Harry hummed to himself in thought, nodding his head in agreement. After a moment, he turned a serious gaze on the Malfoy scion. "When I was younger, I used to think you were idiotic prat who couldn't fight his way out of a pen of flobberworms. Now, suddenly, I find myself very grateful for your help, Draco Malfoy."

"And you are no less the glory-hound coming to save the day from the evil Dark Lord than you ever were," Draco retorted, straight faced before a slight grin spread across his face. "But at least you've upgraded from killing monsters and professors to planning a full-scale rebellion against the Ministry of Magic itself. I'd almost think I had a bad influence on you, Potter."

Harry snorted in amusement as he held up a fist towards Draco. "Rest assured, Draco. That we will settle our score one day, but for now we're stuck with helping each other."

"And I have no intention of letting anyone else take you out before I do," Draco stated, lightly and reluctantly bumping his fist with Harry's.

* * *

(**Author's Note**) That's right, people! Harry's got a castle of his own now! Draco and Harry have begun plotting their hostile takeover, and the world shall never be the same again. I wonder who can guess what their first target will be?

Sorry this chapter took so long. It's meant to be a transitional one to the next arc. But I've been suffering from a severe lack of interest in this story lately. That and real life is kicking my ass five different ways, running me over with spiked tank threads, and leaving me out to rot in the Arctic sunlight. It's been miserable for me. On that note, if this chapter's subpar, that's the reason and I truly apologize for that.

**Peragro Mundus** – Travel through the World (Latin)


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